


Faithfully Yours

by Toryb



Series: Dear Angel [4]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Blood, Branding, Dark!Jughead, F/M, Forced Marking, Knives, Marking, mind breaking, serial killer!jughead, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 10:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12555524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: Another scream pierced the silence. Suffering. The darkness had reached her. It was all consuming. A single black spot on her heart and his angel had begun to fall. But he could save her, just as she saved him.He entered his study: the birthplace of all his work. Poems pinned to the walls, victim lists written over and over again, wood worked cutlery waiting to be polished. He picked his favorite: a small knife with a sharp point, lilies etched into the pearly white handle. Pain to purity.





	Faithfully Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo friends. Once again, the response I get from these fics makes me nearly cry. I love you all, each and everyone one of you. Fun fact, a mutual of mine made me this [Amazing Moodboard](http://tory-b.tumblr.com/post/166921303940/bel-ina-darkbughead-moodboard-for) for this story so you should go check it out and reblog it.
> 
> This fic is slightly shorter and definitely DARKER than the others. So you have been warned about that. Seriously, the tags speak for themselves.

Beauty, order, perfection. It was a world like this he hungered for. This vision led him forward, like a carrot in front of a black horse sweeping a plague across the land. But where destruction lay, goodness would spring forward. New trees after a forest fire, flowers from his sister’s grave, art from his victims. Without darkness, there would never be light. No one had understood that, not until her.

His angel, doused in an addictive heavenly glow. Every brief moment that light shined upon him was worth the crimes he committed. She was the goodness he would fight for, the beauty that could not, _would not,_ be harmed by the contaminated hands of an ugly world. Betty would become his Rapunzel, locked away safe in a tower.

But why did she scream like it was a prison?

It had been nearly two days since she had woken up from her slumber, startled and unsure by her new surroundings. Jughead made sure he was beside her, whispering her worries away. But she had pulled from him. His little song bird refused to sing. Refused to eat. All there was now were tears, curled around the blankets he had spent so long collecting for her as she mourned the loss of her family, her friends, a life before him.

Betty simply didn’t understand. How could she? The world through her eyes was basked in light. People were not evil, were capable of loveliness even at their most villainous. But Jughead knew better. He always had. The world was unjust and sought to destroy any ounce of purity. He would not let her be another victim. They had already taken so much from him, and she would not be another causality in this war.

The sounds of her midnight wails had become almost comforting to him, an assurance that she was locked safely away. Still, he ached for her touch again. It was a tenderness he knew he did not deserve but craved regardless. That night they had spent tangled in one another, she had understood him so well. The very depths of his darkness had been touched, cleansed by her gentle hands. But now those green eyes that held so much love could no longer bear to meet his.

Jughead looked down at his hands, tracing along the crevasses etched into his palms. Tiny cuts faded in seamlessly with natural lines. What felt like lifetimes ago, he had gone to a palm reader with Jellybean. There was a carnival in town and she had spent the entire night before begging with him to go. He hadn’t believed what the witching woman had said then, that his hands would bring death. It was nothing more than a silly game to rattle impressionable young girls.

But maybe the seemingly daft old woman had been right. Maybe the powers that be had carved him from blood stained marble.

Another scream pierced the silence. Suffering. The darkness had reached her. It was all consuming. A single black spot on her heart and his angel had begun to fall. But he could save her, just as she saved him.

He entered his study: the birthplace of all his work. Poems pinned to the walls, victim lists written over and over again, wood worked cutlery waiting to be polished. He picked his favorite: a small knife with a sharp point, lilies etched into the pearly white handle. Pain to purity.

When the door to her room opened, Jughead was at last wrapped in the familiar warmth of her vanilla scent. He had done everything for her. A perfect palace for the love of his life. Flowers, books, everything and more she could ever have desired and she repaid him with devilish words and a cold shoulder.

No. That wasn’t her. His angel would have loved him for this, thanked him. This was a poison, slowly working its way through her veins. But he still had time to clean her.

“Juggie?” It was the first time she’d spoken his name and for a moment, he paused. “What’re you doing?” Fear lingered at the edge of her voice.

Step by step, he moved slowly into her haven, the door locked firmly behind him. His arms reached out and pulled her tightly into his lap. Her body shook in his presence, but melted into his touch. It reassured his worries. His dear, darling angel was inside there, aching to be released from this torment.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, kissing the hallow of his ear, “You won’t hurt anymore.”

The knife bit into the flesh of her thigh, a steady stream of crimson staining the pastel sheets below her in blood. Betty’s gasp was muffled by his hand. At first, she fought, squirming against his movements. The knife cut deeper, a screech dying in her throat. He worked carefully. His work would be beautiful, just as it always was, maybe even more so now. To carve an angel, purify her, surely this was the pinnacle of his art.

Once it was perfected, a three-pronged crown for his princess, a ward to keep out the demons that slumber not only in his heart, but the city they occupied, he let the knife drop from his hand. Her blood painted the lilies red.

Her chocked sobs had become silent tears, body weak and pliant against in his arms. Fingertips stained, he couldn’t help but have a taste.

“Even your blood is sweet,” Jughead whispered into her ear, tracing along her jaw gently. “You did so well for me. You’re clean now, perfect again.”

All the fight had died within her brilliant green eyes. Broken at last, his little doll nodded.

“Th-thank you,” she hiccupped.

Desperate for his touch, Betty moved closer, pressing her body against his with the little strength she had. He allowed her and began peppering the bridge of her nose in gentle kisses. The darkness was gone, chased away by the black horse: her prince, her ghost.

“I love you,” he assured her, “I only do this because I love you. You have to be safe, away from everything bad. Look what it did to you before. It hurt you, tried to take away from me. My angel…I couldn’t…I couldn’t let that happen.”

She looked up again at him. The fear once hidden in her eyes was replaced with trust. “Am I better now?”

Jughead smiled, “Beautiful.”


End file.
